


hey, it's alright, my life has never been a bed of roses

by imsodumbmister



Series: Danganronpa and Fanganronpa One-Shots [5]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cringe Culture Is Dead And I Killed It, Edgy Trashfire, Flashbacks, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27271441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsodumbmister/pseuds/imsodumbmister
Summary: yk what scratch that last summary i shall distract myself from the family emergency by writing even more fanfiction than usual, starting with this edgy self-indulgent komaeda fic
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Series: Danganronpa and Fanganronpa One-Shots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164926
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	hey, it's alright, my life has never been a bed of roses

Komaeda was collapsed on the small white bed in his dorm room, all long white hair, glazed over, dishwater-green eyes, deathly pale skin, a mouth that opened wide in agony, a stream of broken, bloodied light pink flower petals falling out and landing on the bedspread. The teenage boy had been sick many times before in his seventeen-year life. He shuddered, now, at the memories of other small white beds, a sickly little boy with brown hair slowly fading to white, a sickly little boy with rich parents who didn’t care enough about him to visit him in the hospital. In Komaeda’s mind, the boy cried, telling himself that this was because he wasn’t special, there was no hope for him. Now, in his dorm room on Jabberwock Island, Komaeda cried with the little boy, wishing he could tell him that things got better. They didn’t, though, and Komaeda was no liar. 

Shaking his head, Komaeda snapped himself out of his memories. That little boy was dead. Komaeda had taken his place, only to become sick again now. A different kind of sickness this time. It was called Hanahaki disease, he remembered reading somewhere once. The patient vomited flower petals, increasingly bloodied and more in number, until they either died from the flowers growing in their poor lungs, found out that their “unrequited” love actually felt the same, or got the surgery to remove it, which sounded perfect, but the memories and love would have to be removed, too, and Komaeda didn’t want to forget Hajime. 

He lay on the bed, gasping for air, coughing and hacking as petals and blood covered the sheets. He smiled. The little boy was back. Everything went dark.


End file.
